Toil and Trouble
by elmoruthPotterfan6
Summary: Remade. Something wicked this way comes. A wise wizard said we must make a choice between what is right and is easy. It is easy to stay with someone because it is expected. Would that make it right? Would it be right to love someone else if it hurt another? It wouldn't be easy. Rumors of Rebel Death Eaters scare the community. The Prophet is oblivious.Normality is far from reality.
1. Chapter One: Time Heals All Wounds

**Toil and Trouble  
By: ElmoruthPotterfan6**

_Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble…Something wicked this way comes. _

_**(Post-War; Dead: All BUT Fred; Ships: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Fred/Hermione, George/Angelina; Year: Summer, 1999)  
Hermione has scar on arm (MUDBLOOD) as in from movie.**_

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**A/N: I am sad to say that I had to delete the original _Toil and Trouble._ My writing style changed and I feel like it wouldn't be fair to the other chapters if they didn't fit the same as the new ones. I also came to a problem with timing. Now that I know what I'm planning to do in future chapters, I can plan accordingly for the other things. This re sparked my energy for the rest of the chapters.  
Please _review_ and tell me what you think. If you want, _message_ me, too.  
Enjoy. **

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**Chapter One: The Ineffectiveness of Time (Time Heals All Wounds)**

Draco Malfoy stared at his forearm. It stared back, empty eyed and snake-twined. Forever it would be bound there on his arm, a decoration that stood a declaration of a belief he did not hold. It stood a reminder of times he wanted to forget but was unable to. So many things were burned deeply beneath his eyelids. Time played a major part of healing wounds.

Hogwarts was reopened shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts, or as many called it amongst themselves as the Great War, the Final Battle. Those who were old enough to fully understand and those who fought with those who died, named it the Battle of Hogwarts. It didn't matter what they called it, Draco didn't want to talk about the subject. He was asked to often at first. After promising to severely hex a several students of various ages, he was left alone on the subject.

Throughout the school year, many unused and therefore destroyed classrooms were being restored by volunteers of the Wizarding World as well as most of the students who were capable of handling the complex magic. Only a handful of classrooms were used to hold classes and were spread around the castle almost like the time before the corridors littered bits of brick. The castle walls were almost completely restored before snow rolled in the hallways. House dormitories often housed a few empty beds. The student body wasn't as large as before, but Hogwarts didn't turn any away who wanted to learn. Those who were unable to complete their year during the Battle for any reason were encouraged to finish and sometimes another body was added to the class size without question. Capable teachers who agreed to teach were placed into sturdy classrooms with ever eager students. All wanted normality.

It was not as if Draco needed to come back for what was now called the "Eighth Year". Many in his year didn't bother to return; keen to start a life without fear. Draco came back because he constantly lived with fear. He was not popular within the community of those who escaped the clutches of the Ministry. Nor was he in the favor of many of those who fought against Voldemort. Only a few were impartial to him; this included the people who were once his enemies.

Draco covered the skin deep eyes with the sleeve of his white, long sleeved shirt. He often wore as much as he could to cover the ugly mark on his arm. His own pale eyes shifted to the open trunk at the foot of his bed. He had not yet bothered to pack, almost unwilling to make himself move. Draco and all of the other students would be leaving soon and there would be no place to protect him against whoever may want to pick him off the face of the Earth. He could name a few or many; it depended if time had healed their wounds as inefficiently as the wound he was determined to cover with cloth.

Draco didn't have many friends in his extended year. He had few words to offer and even less to say in a conversation. Before the Battle, Draco had what one could call 'friends'. He did and sometimes didn't. It depended on his mood. The people that were closest to him dwindled down to a spare few. Two were dead and one was is Azkaban. When one extended further onto his acquaintances, one didn't return for the Battle, and almost none returned to Hogwarts. But, as Draco often reminded himself, it was all in the matter of speculation. He didn't seem to miss the people he had surrounded himself with when he was younger, spare Crabbe and Goyle. Maybe Blaise as well.

Throughout the past year, Draco stayed closest to those in the Eighth Year, but he carried very little value into their musings. Neither party mattered. They had all seen the same horror, but Draco believed that he experienced more horror than his year have. He thought, to himself of course, that his experience measured up to a Granger and half of a student. Draco's mouth would then twitch, attempting to smirk, but would mold back into his set frown. He felt he had no need to smile, no reason to.

With his trunk full of his possessions, he slammed it shut, hard. Silently, he cursed the ineffectiveness of time.

.

Hermione Granger stared out of the train window as the blur of trees flew ever faster. She couldn't remember a time when she stared out of the window like she did now in the train corridor, her trunk leaning beside her. She leaned against the cooling window glass and pressed her hands against it. Between her outstretched fingers, the green of the trees painted a canvas between her hands and she stared with child- like wonder. Then it came to her. Hermione watched the platform disappear her first year at Hogwarts, craning to see her parents pop out of sight in the mess of other parents seeing their children off. It seemed ages ago. She pushed the lump in her throat away, remembering that they would not be waiting at King's Cross to collect her. Quickly, she wrenched her hands off of the window.

They say time heals all wounds, but one does not know how long time is.

Hermione glanced around the train corridor. The students wishing to catch the last bit of Hogwarts had dispersed into their seats. Not bothering to look for Ginny, she turned to look for an empty seat. Ginny would be with a few of her own friends, though Hermione expected the younger to look for her more than midway through the train ride. Easily finding an empty compartment, she stowed her trunk in the overhead space and sat next to the window. She almost regretted not pulling out a book to read for she began to feel sick watching distance pass by her.

She imagined she should feel happy; she was going to see her best friends she hadn't seen since Christmas. Of course she would be, she was, happy but something tugged at her and prevented her from feeling too elated. She missed her boys, Harry and Ron. She wanted to talk to them in person rather than conversing through owl. She couldn't get too mad about their lack of insight in their letters. They were more like Harry's letters and not Ron's because Ron almost never bothered to write her. "Miss you – Ron" he would scribble at the end of Harry's letters right by Harry's name. More than often they ended up in the fireplace and a good, long glare off of Hermione's anger.

Hermione tried to argue for Ron's behavior. First she told herself that he was busy with Auror training. She would then contradict that thought with another thought that Harry was able to find time to owl her. She quickly ran out of excuses for Ron's behavior and considered her relationship, or lack thereof one, with him. She may have feelings for him, but now she was unsure if she really felt them or not.

"Such a prick," she murmured to herself, scaring away her thoughts with the sudden spoken outburst.

"What am I going to do?" she asked the window. Her queasiness slowly pushed away.

_Maybe I should just wait and see. Maybe time will tell._

Hermione shifted her thoughts to what she was going to do now that she was out of Hogwarts. She stared out of the window almost transfixed in her thoughts until she was jarred by a knocking on the compartment window. She jumped, startled, almost as much as who knocked on the thin glass.

"Can I join you? All the other ones have people in them," Malfoy asked, his voice almost flat, his face hard.

"Not at all," she replied and motioned to the full bench in front of her. He thanked her and hoisted his trunk in the overhead storage. Hermione couldn't help but wonder why he was sitting in the same compartment as she was.

_Stop it, silly. He faced as much as you did. You need not feel like he is still an enemy._

They hadn't spoken much during the year. She had told off a few students who were making quick remarks about him, but she wasn't sure if he knew it. At least, he didn't thank her. She didn't expect him to. He was still Malfoy after all. After a few moments, Malfoy pulled out a small, tattered black book from his cloak pocket. Hermione saw that many pages were dog-eared and re-folded back into upright position. She then looked out the window to prevent from the awkward feeling of staring too long. In her rucksack, she pulled out _The Daily Prophet_ from that morning. She had already looked through it earlier that morning, but it was better than staring out the window.

.

Tonight, they were going to celebrate. After dinner, Harry Potter proposed to Ginny Weasley under the shade of the old oak tree. All of the friends of the family were called for an impromptu celebration party. Bill, Fleur, Percy, Fred, and George were already at the Burrow. A few remaining members of the Order trickled into the yard where Mrs. Weasley set floating lanterns in the tree. It was around midnight when most vacated the lawn and left for their own homes.

Hermione remained on the old picnic table with a glass of Firewhisky in her hand. She tilted it back and swallowed it in one gulp. It burned her throat, but she paid it no mind, it was almost numbing after her third shot. Tonight was not about her, she had to remind herself. It was about her friends.

_"I hardly believe it, you are barely out of Hogwarts, Ginny,"_ Mrs. Weasley kept fussing, always adding that she was happy, nonetheless.

Hermione kept her thoughts to herself. She was twenty, nearly twenty one in two months. Harry hadn't turned twenty himself yet and Ginny nineteen. Hermione couldn't help but compare herself to them in age. They both were younger than she and marrying before she could firmly grasp herself a relationship. She wasn't bitter, but no word that she thought of described it better than that. She looked down at her empty glass.

_They are lucky_, she thought. _Lucky to find themselves early in life._

She had to wait for hers to clarify itself. Time was another fickle thing. She thought harder on this as she picked the pealing chips off of the wooden table.

"Looks like you need another," said a voice. Hermione looked up and saw Fred walking to her with a full bottle of Firewhisky.

"Hullo, Fred," she replied.

He sat next to her and poured more liquid into her glass. "I'm George," he pushed, sliding her glass closer to her.

"Nice try," she laughed, grabbing onto the glass with one hand and tugging on her ear with the other, "You have two of these."

Absently, Fred reached to his own head, "Oh, hell, right. I guess so." He drank from the bottle.

"You also have a freckle on your nose," she sipped at the Firewhisky.

Fred frowned and raised an eyebrow, "A freckle?" He poured more into her glass.

"Could be a mole," Hermione witted back, shrugging.

"I'm sure it's a freckle."

"Don't worry. The fact that you have two ears on the side of your face is more noticeable than that," she drained the remainder in her glass. "Does your mother approve?" she asked, her voice heavy from the drink. She indicated to the bottle he had in his hands.

Fred shook his head and poured more into her glass, "With the way she's fussing with those two," he nodded his head to the house behind them where the rest of the party moved to, "that she wouldn't notice me even if I'd danced naked in front of her and everyone."

Hermione laughed.

"Now that's something to see," Fred winked, "I've got a freckle on my right arse cheek as well."

"Are you sure it isn't a mole?" she teased.

"Tut, tut, Hermione. 'Freckle' is more dignified than 'mole'. It's on my arse; I need to make it have a good reputation."

"And how do you know said freckle?" She sipped from her glass.

Fred's smile widened, "Well, bullocks, Hermione, I've been told."

They both laughed. Hermione tilted her head upward to the sky. The night sky was still, peaceful. No cloud blotted the moon from view. She stared at it; the thoughts she had previously were pushed aside and hushed. Something raced through her mind, a small thought that caught her off guard. It streaked across her mind and then faded, like a falling star, leaving her confused. Distracted, she glanced at Fred. He too, looked at the sky but not in wonder. His thoughts were close to him and were not about the stars bright above.

It took her by surprise how much he differed from Ron. Of course they were of the same family and resembled each member slightly, but the differences between the two were great. Ron was taller, like Bill, his features elongated to fit his length. Fred and George were shorter, like Charlie. Unlike Charlie and more like Ron, the Twins were lean while Charlie and Bill were wide. Percy was the shortest of the bunch, followed by Ginny. Two sets of eye color ran in the Weasley household. Ron had blue eyes like Mr. Weasley, Charlie, and Percy and Fred and George had brown eyes like Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Ginny. Of course, all of the Weasleys had the same color of flaming red hair.

Personality was what really separated Ron from the Twins the most. The Weasley clan had a temper, but Ron's temper was the worst in the family. The color would rise to Ron's ears long before the Twins would crack a joke in response. The Twins set themselves apart from the rest of their siblings as the jokers, the ones to lighten the mood. From what Hermione could tell, in theory, the Twins were different from each other as well. Beside the missing ear, George didn't look different than Fred did. Before the accident, the elusive freckle Hermione saw was what kept the two trouble makers clear in her mind. Fred seemed, to her, more realistic, the brains, the one who started it. George was a go-getter, the one to follow through.

Hermione could see Fred watching her from the corner of his eye. Slams of the screen door made her turn around, breaking her thoughts entirely. Ron sat himself on the other side of Hermione.

"What a night, eh?" he asked. The table groaned a little.

"I guess so. It isn't every night when there is a celebration," Hermione replied, twisting her glass in her hands.

"Hell, Hermione, I celebrate every night, don't you?" Fred chipped in, his lips barely touching the bottle as he winked. Hermione tried not to laugh too loud for Ron's sake.

Ron didn't answer nor reply a retort. The tips of his ears grew red and he started to bounce his leg. The table reverberated with his shakes. Hermione knew how he felt about her, how nervous he sometimes got when they were close. Her feelings for him were not as clear. If she pursued it, the relationship between them would be safe; the easiest one to fall into. It was what was expected of them to do. There was a time when she thought she wanted it too. Now she wasn't so sure.

Hermione said, "Merlin, Ron, you are going to tip us over." When it was clear that neither man would leave, she gave her glass to Fred to fill. She got up from her spot and walked around the table to the other side. Fred handed back her glass.

This was no better. Both Weasleys looked at her as if she was going to start the conversation. She, for once, didn't know what to say. Instead, she looked at her glass. It suddenly didn't appeal to her to drink anymore. She swirled her finger around the rim.

"Are you OK, Hermione?" Ron asked.

"Yes, I am OK, Ronald," her tongue bit, her tone sharp, "It is a happy day two of my friends get engaged to each other. And I am happy for them, I really am. Hazzah!" The two men looked at her with different expressions. One was confused, shrinking from the sharp tone. The other smiled, liking her whip and raised his bottle in return.

_Maybe one last drink wouldn't hurt._ She finished her last glass.

"So happy," she repeated, pushing her glass away from her.

"How many have you had?" Ron asked; his face still in the state of confusion.

Hermione shrugged, "Dunno." Her words felt clear to her, but maybe they weren't to others. Hermione wasn't a drinker.

"OK, maybe you've had enough," Ron slowly said, grabbing the glass. Hermione felt a bubble of anger rise from her stomach. Maybe she should have stopped a few glasses back.

"Oh, piss off, Ron. I am the oldest of our group and my youngest friend and my second youngest friend are getting married while I sit here alone and miserable. They are getting married and yet I still haven't gotten a good lay," Hermione felt the words roll out of her mouth and knew she shouldn't have said the things she did. She normally wouldn't have, either. The words felt so good released from her mind and used freely that she instantly forgot about regretting them.

"And _you_, Ron Weasley," she continued, pointing a finger at him. Ron's face paled, "_You_ just sit there. You don't act like you care a damn about me, yet have the nerve to string me along with these confusing…feelings while you just sit there and…sit."

The words were harder to grasp. Her anger boiled along with the Firewhisky.

"_I _shouldn't wait for _you_," she finished, getting herself up from the table. "_You_ should _beg_ for _me_."

She turned to the Burrow and stomped through the door. The house was silent. They seem to have been the last ones to retire for the night. Hermione tried to quiet her feet. Before she made her clumsy way upstairs, she grabbed herself a glass of water.

"That was brilliant, Hermione," said a voice beside her. On a normal day, she would have been startled.

"No, Fred," she replied as seriously as she could through various tuffs of laughter. "It was _fucking_ brilliant." She poked his nose and went to bed.

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**A/N: Please review and tell me what you think. If I get a handful of reviews, I will post the next chapter next Sunday. **

**Much love!**


	2. Chapter Two: Beggars Can't Be Choosers

**Toil and Trouble  
By: ElmoruthPotterfan6**

**A/N: Well, Chapter Two everybody. Thank you for all the reviews, favorites, and followers from the bottom of my heart. I can't say how much I appreciate it all.  
Please review your thoughts or even message me if you like.**

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**Chapter Two: What's the Story, Morning Glory? (Beggars Can't be Choosers)**

Molly Weasley looked onto the green yard. The sun poked its lazy head over the hills to the east and casted long shadows pointing to the west. Her youngest was growing up and getting married. Molly never gave her own age much mind, but, with this new installment in her only daughter's life, it made her feel twice as old as she did the day before. She had felt this feeling once before when Ginny's little head popped out of the Hogwarts train, waved at Molly, and started her first year at Hogwarts. Arthur grabbed her hand on the journey home and reminded her that the children needed plenty of mothering still. Now that they were all grown up, Molly still had a lot of mothering left in her. There was still a while until the house would be full of grandchildren.

There was nothing more Molly wanted more than grandchildren; little children that resembled her precious ones to which she could spoil more than she did her own. This filled her heart with happiness with the thought.

"_Knowing our record, Molly, who knows how many. We may have grandchildren rolling in the house by the pile-full!" _laughed Arthur one night after a visit from Bill, Fleur, and baby Victoire. Molly slept with a wide smile that night.

Arthur and she were hardly out of their schooling when they got married. Molly believed, and still believes full heartedly, that eloping was the best thing to do at that time. Voldemort wasn't so much a feared name as it came to be, yet his power kept Dumbledore watchful. What kept Dumbledore watchful kept them watchful. Something was coming, they felt it- they all felt it. Something did come, but this wasn't the case now. There was no need for the rashness of Ginny and Harry's engagement. It wasn't as if she wasn't happy, Merlin no. She just wished that they lived a little before they settled down and started a family. No matter how she fussed about their age, Molly couldn't help be proud of her daughter. Harry would be a perfect son-in-law.

She always wanted a girl before Ginny was born. It took years and six children later until that wish to be fulfilled. She loved her children, but nothing was more protected in the family than Ginny was. There was no doubt in Molly's mind that Hermione was also a part of the family after being friends with Ron with such a long time. Hermione was almost like a daughter to her just like how Harry was almost like a son to her. Now Harry will be. For the longest time, Molly thought that Hermione would join the family officially, but with Ron's head in the clouds, Molly didn't see a proposal happening any time soon from him. She worried about that boy.

Like every mother, Molly worried about her children and their wellbeing. Bill had Fleur and their daughter, Percy had Audrey (whom he met one day at the office at the Ministry), Ginny had Harry, and George had Angelina and they didn't need her to worry as much. With Charlie in Romania, she worried about him not returning home to visit. The Twins had their shop and she worried about Fred overworking himself. She was worried that Ron was trying to live pass his potential with his training to be an Auror.

Molly sighed and poked the tea kettle with her wand. _Maybe I can successfully convince Charlie to move near home this year._

"Good morning, Mollywobbles," smiled Arthur behind her. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek. After these many years, she loved him more than she did when they first were married.

"Morning, Dear. How did you sleep?"

Arthur sat himself at his usual chair at the kitchen table. Molly fixed him a cup of tea while he started to unfold the _Daily Prophet_.

"Like a baby. How did you sleep?" He looked at her. Those blue eyes get her every time.

Molly smiled and placed the cup next to him, "Oh, the usual."

She didn't choose to be with Arthur. They sort of chose each other. She wouldn't have it any other way.

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Hermione stared at the ceiling for a while after she woke that morning. Her stomach hurt and her head knocked against her unusually hard pillow. She hoped that more sleep would follow to alive the uneasiness she felt. The sun crept across the window, causing more pain behind her eyes. It was early, she could tell, but waking up early was not a habit she could break.

The house was silent, even the ghoul in the attic had taken a break from his moans. With a clouded mind, Hermione turned around in the bed in the room she was guest of. It previously was Bill's before he had left the Burrow. The things he left behind remained in boxes in the corner of the room. Hermione guessed that they held the remaining bits of his childhood. It was nice that parts of his childhood were still available.

Hermione rolled herself upright on the bed. Almost instantly she regretted it. Swearing against any alcohol, she swung her feet out the side of the bed. She thought about her parents still in Australia. Wendell and Monica Wilkins still didn't know they had a daughter who was looking for them. The ministry took it in their hands to contact her parents but had no luck. Apparently, she unknowingly placed an anti-search element within the spell she cased against them. The ministry hadn't had much luck in finding them in what they called 'the Muggle way'. Numerous groups were assigned to the project and returned with no information. They told Hermione that they were getting closer each trip, but she suspected those words were just for her benefit.

Hermione moved her thoughts away from her parents far from her and moved them to something closer: last night. Hermione could recall that she was angry and that she may have yelled. If she would have guessed, she would have said that she was angry with Ron. There was a two percent chance in her mind that it was not him. She hoped that what she said would come back to her once she started the day.

"Oh, Crookshanks," she said, turning to the part Kneazle cat. He looked at her with only an expression that a cat owner could read. She lovingly scratched his chin. "What have I gotten myself into?"

Crookshanks sneezed and walked away.

Hermione placed her feet on the hardwood floor. With the lightest pressure, the floor gave an almost inaudible squeak. It was common knowledge that the Burrow was held up by magic and there was no doubt that it wasn't. There may be magic in between the walls, but the walls couldn't hold any secrets to themselves. The walls around her felt familiar to her though she hardly spent much time in them since she arrived the previous day.

She walked to the looking glass hung beside the wardrobe. Hermione never really liked looking at herself, even at a young age. Her paternal grandparents were quick to judge her on her looks. To them, she was too tall and then she was too short. One day she was too fat and the next she was too skinny. They fussed about the upkeep on her hair and pointedly poked at her teeth. It wasn't like she chose the way she looked.

They resided in France and she visited them every summer until she was fifteen. She was sure they still lived there although she hadn't heard from them. She detested visiting them, but she loved going to France. Her maternal grandmother, however, encouraged Hermione to be positive about how she looked. She told her that she wasn't just a field mouse in a group of cats. Grandmother Willow often visited Hermione when she was younger. Her grandfather had passed before she was born. With the stories that Grandmother had told her, she knew that she would have liked him. Before Hermione arrived at Hogwarts, Grandmother had passed quietly in her sleep. She was always told that she had Grandmother's eyes; it was only today that she saw that they were right.

Hermione turned from the glass, grabbed her house cloak and her tooth brush, and headed to the bathroom. She could hear Mrs. Weasley cooking in the kitchen a floor below. As quietly as she could, Hermione climbed up the stairs. The floor underneath her groaned at her as if they too were up late the night before. She crossed them quickly.

A floor above hers had the Twin's and Percy's room. Hermione knew that Percy's room would be empty but she wondered if Fred crashed on his old bed. Assuming that Fred had, Hermione tip-toed pass the two doors and up the next flight of stairs. With the bathroom a short distance, Hermione turned her head to look behind her. The next thing she knew, she ran directly into a soft, warm wall. Or maybe it was a door.

"Are you OK?" Asked the door, which was kind of it considering that doors could not talk.

Hermione backed away from the object and regained focus. The door was no door but a Fred. She blinked at him. He grasped a towel around his waist. Apparently, he had just finished taking a shower. Feeling her face growing warmer, Hermione side stepped him, pushing herself to the shelter of the bathroom.

"I am, thank you. Sorry for…" she faltered, "I didn't hear you."

He winked, "Silencing spell. It comes in handy sometimes," and walked away.

When she shut the door, she exhaled a lungs worth of air.

.

Ron didn't sleep well. He tossed so often that night that Harry hit him hard with his pillow and warned him that something from the Twin's joke shop was going to end up in his morning juice if Ron didn't stop moving. It wasn't as if he didn't want to sleep. He pleaded for sleep, yet sleep was astringe to him. He managed to sleep a few hours in-between sleepless tossing. Hermione's words echoed angrily in Ron's mind.

_What did she mean when she said she was waiting for me? Why does she think that I don't care? I _do_ care. Oh, Merlin how I care so much._

To Ron, his feelings to Hermione were clear. He really liked her. Hell, he loved her. Easy. To express these feelings, however, was harder. Much harder. His heart, the bloody thing, beat uncontrollably whenever she was near, whenever he thought about her. He was sure that it was loud enough for others to hear it as it thumped, deafening, in his ears. His tongue, the sodding thing, twisted into knots whenever he talked to her. Words jumbled and fled from his mind, preventing him to make a sensible conversation with Hermione. Whenever Ron managed to push pass the mess of his mouth, he came off as rude or the words in his mind transfigured crudely and caused more trouble than saying nothing at all. He wished that she could see how hard he tried. It wasn't as if he chose to mess up on purpose.

Ron's record was against him. When he was younger, he didn't understand these feelings to a small, bookish girl who kept her nose in whatever book she could reach. He didn't like how she bossed him about rules he gave no regards to.

_To hell with rules,_ he often thought many times during his years at Hogwarts.

As they both grew up, he saw her change before his eyes. It wasn't until third year when she gave Malfoy a piece of her mind with her fist that his eyes were fully open. In fourth year, he was too nervous to ask Hermione to the ball and hoped that she would eventually go with him without him asking. This wasn't a well thought out plan because she went with _Victor _fucking _Krum_. Ron liked him less since then. It wasn't until sixth year when things started getting messed up. Ron found himself in a relationship with Lavender Brown. It wasn't the smartest thing he had ever done (honestly what _has_ been?) and it was near the end of the relationship when he started regretting it. Having shared a kiss at the Battle of Hogwarts, Ron thought maybe they would start something. They had but when Hermione went back to Hogwarts and he went to Arror training, things went sour again. Their relationship never had a break-up point, it simply faded back to where it was several years previously. His feelings never wavered for years. He just needed to express them.

_Come on, Ron. You can do it._

Oh, she was right. He shouldn't have let the relationship vanish the way he did. His letters were by no means heartfelt. She was right to be mad at him. He was a sodding loser and she knew it.

_Come on, Ron. You can do it._

"Which should I wear?" he asked Harry the next morning while Harry was tying his trainers. Harry gave him a look of amusement and laughed at him.

"God, mate. What does it matter? She saw both of them before."

Ron didn't answer and pulled on one of the shirts. He didn't remember which one. With one sniff of the cloth, he grimaced at it. Quickly, he pulled on the other shirt. This one didn't smell as bad.

_Come on, Ron. You can do it._

Without an outro, he bounded for the door, nearly tripping over his own feet. Harry laughed behind him and followed the flailing Ron down to breakfast.

_Oh, Merlin. What am I going to do?_

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**A/N: Oh, what is he going to do? Review your theories and see if you are right!  
But really, review and let me know what you liked, what you want to point out, what you didn't like, or what you want to correct. **


	3. Chapter Three: Penny For Your Thoughts

**Toil and Trouble**

**By: ElmoruthPotterfan6**

**A/N: Sorry for the long break in between chapters. My excuses are as follows in order they came: Play, every class suddenly collectively wanted projects, final exams, now I am a few days away from going on a trip to England, Ireland, Wales, and Scotland (I plan on hunting several celebrities while I am over there. Not sure if I'll see anybody, but 90% of the ones I **_**love**_** live in that area. I mean, how hard can it be to **_**not**_** find them?) I'd love to talk about my trip to those who want to message me.**

**As a gift for your patience, I added my version of what happened to Fred which wasn't there previously. He didn't die, so what happened?**

**As always, please review after reading.**

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**Chapter Three: A Sickle for Your Thoughts (A Penny for Your Thoughts)**

"You are a sodding arsehole! Did you have to kick it so far? It passed the fucking trees and is probably half way through the village now!" yelled a temperamental Ginny Weasley to an equally red-faced Ron.

"Me? Ginny, you are the one who through it so fucking far! We are not playing for the World fucking Cup, you know!"

"I wish we were because you are the worst damned Keeper I've ever seen! _And_ you almost took off my head!"

"I was nowhere near your head. If I wanted to kick it at your head I could have because your head is as big as a fucking Hippogriff."

Fred watched his younger siblings fly closer and closer together until they were almost face to face screaming at the other. Knowing that this would be a game breaker, he dismounted from his broom and walked to where Hermione sat on the grass. He leaned against the tree she sat by. At the start of the game, she refused to participate if she had to ride a broom. Without budging, she was deemed as score keeper. The teams were Ginny and Harry against Ron and Fred.

Fred had a long day. After Fred bumped into Hermione that morning after his shower, he quickly dressed and grabbed toast from his mother.

_"Oh, honestly, is _that_ what you are having for breakfast?_" she fussed.

_"Mum, I'm going to be late otherwise I would love to sit here and have some of your lovely breakfast._"

For the past week, the Twins were working out a new schedule. Since during the summer would be one of their busiest times of the year, they would work in shifts so they wouldn't tire out easily. For months, they readied their inventory, created a few new products, and improved faulty products. During this time in the summer, they would be just brain storming for the Christmas months. This left them available to help with their staff with the rush.

In the morning, Fred would open the shop and get ready for customers at eight and George would bring in lunch for the two of them around one. He mostly brought take-out from the various places to eat and a few particular ones they liked in the Muggle neighborhood. Sometimes Angelina joined them to eat. Fred normally kept himself busy until three when he left and George would be in charge until they closed at nine. After they closed, one would count the receipts while the other counted the till. The profit was placed in the safe until either one would make the trip to Gringotts twice a week.

The schedule came to be because Angelina worked at a restaurant pub in the evening and didn't get off until midnight most nights. George wanted to spend more time with her and proposed this idea to Fred. Fred, honestly, didn't know what to think about the idea. He thought it was a nice idea to not spend more thirteen hours at the shop a night now that they were well established in the area. But it was _their_ shop. There was something that bothered him and he couldn't exactly put his finger on it.

"Are they really fighting over their playing ability?" Hermione asked, cutting into Fred's thoughts.

"Looks like it," he replied, "Sometimes Quidditch needs to be taken seriously."

Hermione looked at him with an incredulous smile.

"I didn't say that this is one of them," he defended.

The bright sun was starting to set firmly in the trees in the west, casting a nice shade over the makeshift playing area. When the game started, Fred folded the sleeves of his shirt he wore to work to below his elbows and unbuttoned half of the small buttons. Leaning further back onto the tree, he kicked off his shoes. It was a nice, relaxing early evening.

"Did anything exciting happen at the shop today?"

"Something exciting always happens, Hermione," Fred laughed, tilting his head to her. "Today I caught two boys trying to knick our fire crackers. And let's just say that there was a mishap in their pants…well, OK two mishaps."

"What did you do?" Hermione half groaned, half laughed.

"Oh, they went off prematurely. Blokes still had them in their back pockets."

"I hope they weren't seriously hurt."

He playfully nudged her arm with his elbow, "Oi, they were stealing from us. They deserved it."

"They could have been seriously hurt."

"Then I would have personally delivered a bouquet of flowers to St. Mungos." Fred laughed. From the corner of his eye, he watched Hermione as she shook her head while she laughed. Something swelled within his chest and settled there, ballooning awake the ends of his fingertips. There was always a feeling of accomplishment when he made Hermione laugh.

The feeling continued to sparkle within him well after Ginny and Ron quit their squabbling and dismounted. Together, all five of them sat around the shade of the tree shooting the breeze.

"Oh, by the way. Hermione said Ron and I won."

.

"Hermione, can I ask you something?" Ron asked, grabbing onto Hermione's arm. She looked at him with big, questioning eyes that scattered his thoughts. Everybody else walked on to the house where Mum was calling for dinner time. Suddenly, Ron's mouth went dry.

After a few moments of silence, Hermione prodded, "Is everything OK, Ron?"

"Er—Yes. Yeah… So…er."

_Words. Words would be great right now, dumb-arse._

Hermione looked behind her to the house. Ron could see that she was getting uncomfortable.

_Just say something. Say some words. Any word! Anything is better than this! Merlin, this is the longest that anybody in the whole world went without talking. _

"Dinner!" Ron yelled causing Hermione to jump on the spot.

"What?"

"How about it?" Ron clapped his hands together.

"How about…what?"

He repeated without a beat, "Dinner!"

"Well, Ronald, your mum's has dinner ready if that's what you mean."

Ron's face went blank and then flashed quickly to a deep shade of red, "No, I was thinking…that maybe…er… you'd want to…you know… er..have dinner…tomorrow?"

Hermione took a deep breath, "I plan on eating tomorrow, yes."

Ron could have kicked himself. Sodding tongue!

He took a calming breath and started again, "I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me…not here?" Hermione looked slightly surprised. "You know…like a date?"

_There, that was better. Much better. Good job, numbnuts._

"Oh," replied Hermione.

Ron's insides expelled themselves to the grass. "Oh?"

"No, I didn't mean it to sound that way."

Was it possible to forget how to breathe and want to vomit at the same time?

"Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt. Sure. Tomorrow's good."

"Yeah, tomorrow's great! Tomorrow's fantastic! So you'll go out with me?"

Ron could have kicked himself again. The look Hermione flashed him gave him the impression that she already gave him her answer.

"Yes," she said rather slowly. "I will go out with you."

"Alright. Good. Fantastic." Sentences seemed like a foreign concept to him at the moment. It didn't seem to bother him at all.

After a few blubbering non-sentences, Ron followed her back to the house where dinner was already being started. This time tomorrow would be the greatest moment in his entire existence.

.

Arthur Weasley glanced around the table. The family that gathered around the rickety, old table had grown from when it started what felt like a few years ago. Charlie was the only child missing, but a few others squeezed in his absence. The place which used to hold sounds of children's laugher now carried a duller, quieter form of conversing using real words besides obscure gestures and flying food.

A quick memory flashed before his eyes about when the children were younger. Bill was eleven and almost ready to be attending Hogwarts in the upcoming months. The children played on old booms that Arthur bewitched himself because toy brooms were too expensive to buy in the shops. Charlie's puffed out smoke and bucked him off. He needed his arm splinted. Tears were then settled with treats.

Sometimes he wondered if Molly worried about their children's mortality as much as he did. He never asked her, of course. It would cause her too much panic and she had enough to think about already. The Battle was a doozy. All of his children, and those close enough to be called his children, brushed too closely with death. Arthur thought it was his job to protect his offspring from danger. Molly worried about them getting sick. He worried about creating a better world for them to live in.

Arthur remembered when he saw Fred among the line of those who had fallen during the Battle. Fred was found buried tightly underneath a large stack of broken wall. He was hardly breathing. By the time he and the rest of the clan gathered around Fred, his breathing was less shallow but it still clawed its way out of his throat. He was knocked out and unresponsive. Despite the load that fell on him, he showed hardly any sign of anything broken beside maybe a rib or two. They sat around him, waiting for Fred to peak open an eye and crack a joke.

"_Aw, I missed something good, didn't I?" _was Fred's first responsive words after seeing all of the faces around him.

"Arthur, are you alright?" Molly asked, placing a warm hand on his forearm.

"No, Molly. My mind is far," he laughed, shaking away his thoughts.

Normal conversations continued for a while.

"Is it true that a few rowdy Death Eaters are making some ruckus at the ministry?" asked Percy. The table went silent and waited for Arthur to finish the mouthful of chicken he had in his mouth.

"I wasn't called into work today. Was told to take the day off and return on Monday. Where'd you hear that?"

"Oh, I read a small excerpt in the _Evening Prophet_. There wasn't much on it. It was hardly noticeable anyway. Grant you, no one ever reads that thing too much. I bet if it were true, there won't be anything on it tomorrow."

"I'd reckon you're right. I bet they'd want to keep something like that as quiet as they could. I suppose it would be the ones acquitted. It's not like the ones we locked up in Azkaban would be making much noise at the Ministry."

"What are they doing? They didn't kill anybody, did they?" asked Harry, grabbing onto Ginny's hand.

"Oh, Merlin, no," said Percy, "That'll be the headlining article wouldn't it? No, it said that they were _peacefully _asking to talk to the Minister. Whatever you can define as _peaceful_."

"Did Kingsley talk to them?" Molly asked.

"He's away," simply replied Arthur before Percy could give a long-winded explanation that explained nothing.

"If you ask me," interrupted Percy, Fred made an ugly face, "they are trying to get their foot in the door with whatever policies they want to place on the wizarding community. Lobbying possibly. I don't see how that's going to work."

"I don't know if that's it, but it could possibly be. If they get any more rowdy, they might be placed in holding cells in Azkaban. Merlin, it's already understaffed of Dementors as it is."

"Have they rounded up more of the Dementors still on the loose?" Hermione asked, inching herself closer to the conversation.

Harry interjected, "No. They are hard enough to try to track down let alone trying to convince them back to Azkaban. I had a hell of a time when we went during one Auror training day. It took us about two weeks to finally get it to Azkaban. They are tricky things."

"Too right, Harry," replied Arthur.

"It was horrible," Ron put in.

"I'll ask Smith tomorrow at the office when I pick up his report to edit for the board next week," said Percy. Percy had been skirting around this topic for the past few weeks but refused to divulge any information.

"I don't see why you can't just dangle some sad bloke in front of the Dementor and lure it back to the dingy rock," joked Fred.

Hermione sitting across the table from Fred, scowled at him, "You are honestly suggesting that someone willingly put themselves within arm's length from having their souls sucked out of them just to put it in a dank prison with wizards who did all sorts of crimes?"

"That doesn't seem half as crazy as the things you three did," pushed George. Fred nodded.

Conversation spread across the table and Arthur lost track of all that was being said. He tried to continue to eat, but found it difficult to. Was it so hard for peace to stay? A great portion of his life was in some sort of chaos. This was similar to most of the people now in the wizarding world. It seemed that he and thousands like him were waiting for something to break the peace. He didn't want to think that it could happen, but he felt it deep within him. Half waiting. It wasn't long ago when everybody thought He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named died and then he came back. How can Arthur believe that this time he was gone for good?

Arthur looked at his wife and saw that she had on her worrying face. He disliked how it twisted her fair face so badly. He placed his hand on hers to comfort her like he did so many times that it was impossible to count.

"Don't worry, Mollywobbles. We'll get through this. We always do. Through thick and thin."

* * *

**A/N: Please review, they really make me feel better about writing. Let's take small steps. The numbers of reviews should be…five or more! (I don't want to beg.) **


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